Fereldan Paparrazzi
by Ventisquear
Summary: What are the Wardens like when they think they're alone? What are their secret worries? What's new in their love life? Read to find out!
1. The Vow

A/N This is going to be a collection of unrealated oneshots about different Wardens, with different fates and partners (though I'm a hopeless Zevfanatic, so he'll be in most of the stories, in one way or another). They're mostly results of different challenges and prompts or random strikes of inspiration. :)

This first one was the Secret Santa for awesome KCousland at CMDA :)

Thanks for Seika for beta reading this!

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><p><strong>The Vow<strong>

Leliana laughed, chatted, admired her friend's dress and hair, and tried to reassure her. She did everything that a bridesmaid was supposed to do. No one would ever suspect that she was anything but happy for her best friend. And she _was_. It was the sweetest romance ever, one that every bard dreamed to tell. The loveliest tale of a young noble girl, sweet and innocent, finding her true love, and marrying a man who would do anything for her, even die. Nobody deserved it more than her friend, who had to fight hard for her love, for this day to happen.

Still, she couldn't help but be a little jealous. That wasn't a sin... was it? After the Blight, she decided to serve the Maker. It was the only path for her. But... when she saw her friend, so beautiful and radiant in her wedding dress... she wished to be in her place, just for a moment, to know what it felt like. To say yes to the man she loved –

She got up. "I'm going to check if everything is ready. And to make sure that the groom hasn't run away," she joked and quickly left the room. She was a sinner.

oOo

Fergus picked up the bottle and took a long sip. He really shouldn't, but damn it all. It's not every day that your younger sister, your only family, is getting married. He had every right to get bit drunk. If only Oriana was here now, she'd know – no. He must not think of her now. This day belonged to Pup... though she was hardly Pup any more. _The Hero of Ferelden_. He grinned. Mother and Father would be so proud. Mother would probably say her little girl deserved a better man... but she'd say that even if Pup wanted to marry the Maker himself. Father would, of course, support Pup. She always had him wrapped around her little finger.

_Don't think of them_, he told himself again, blinking away the tears. Think of Pup. He peeked in her room a moment ago. Maker, was she beautiful! She was definitely the most beautiful woman in Ferelden. Probably in whole Thedas, in fact. If Andraste appeared today, nobody would give a shit. He frowned. If that dimwitted fool she's marrying ever makes her cry, he would rip him apart.

He should go and remind him of it once again.

oOo

Alistair sighed with relief. He finally managed to send away all the servants trying to help him with dressing. There were six of them, six! Why would any grown man need six people to help him put on his clothes? That was the worst part about being the king: everyone seemed insistent not to let him even move his finger. As if he was so stupid he couldn't say which sleeve was left and which was right. But he wasn't stupid, despite what Morrigan –

Morrigan. Maker knew where she was now. With _his_ child. The child he didn't want to father. He wanted to be responsible, like a Warden should be. But he did it, in the end. Because otherwise _she_ would die. He couldn't let that happen. He'd hate himself for the rest of his life, if he did. At first he wanted to deal the final blow himself. A selfless sacrifice made of love, something she would have to remember and regret forever. Then Zevran pointed out it was childish. And he was right, Maker damn him.

He glanced to the mirror and decided he looked kingly enough. Time to go. The best man shouldn't be late.

oOo

_I, (name), take you, (name), to be my lawfully wedded, - _

_'Lawfully wedded'_. Had anyone told him, a year ago, that he would get married, he would have given them an antidote for a poison causing brain fever. All he wanted was to find an opponent strong enough to kill him. The Grey Wardens seemed a good choice. He chuckled. That didn't work quite as he expected, did it? They didn't kill him. And yet, _The Warden_ had defeated him, on all fronts. He swore himself to serve her, and did his best to honour it. Today, he was going to make a vow again. Zevran glanced at the paper in his hand again.

_I offer you my solemn vow to be your faithful partner in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as in sorrow._

He already was that. From the beginning. He watched her back, cared for her when she was injured.

_I promise to love you unconditionally, -_

_Without reservation._ He chuckled again. There was no need to learn these words by heart – they were in his heart since he had met her. Now he would only make it official.

oOo

Kaylee walked through the Chantry, hoping people couldn't see how firmly she was squeezing Fergus' arm. This was it. In a few more moments, she would marry Zevran. There he was, standing just a few steps ahead, looking at her admiringly. She knew many guests from noble families were sneering at their relationship. _An elf, and not even a rich one! _They expected her to marry Alistair and become a Queen. It would be practical. Reasonable.

Fools. But she had to be just – a year ago, she would have thought the same way. A year ago, she would have done it. A lot had changed since then. She was not one of them any more. She learned to value other things more than power or titles. Life. Loyalty. Trust. Friendship. Love. Those sounded so... clichéd, back when she was the only daughter of the Teyrn. She was wiser now.

Zevran gave her a nervous smile as she stood next to him. Only after she said her vows, and placed the ring on his finger, he seemed to relax. Did he think she would run away from the altar? She didn't wait till the Grand Cleric finished.

She kissed him.


	2. Diet

This was a Secret Santa for Danijou at Zev Thread, featuring her 'evil priest' Diodius.

Dio legitimatelly believes in the Maker and uphold his premises and is a healer - but he's also a blood mage. He' 'tale, take, take' person who only saved Fereldan to rule it through the puppet king. But with Zevran, he's suddenly 'give, give, give' - he spoils the elf rotten and depends on him as much as on faith. Death is the only thing he fears so kept the Flemeth's Grimmoire for himself and learned to switch bodies. And Danijou's wish was to see how he keeps _Zevran_ young.

Coincidentally, Danijou was also my Secret Santa and she made a beautiful picture of Zevran taking care of Airam atfter he was captured and taken to Fort Drakon. Isn't she amazing? http: /social. bioware. com/ uploads_user/ 2308000/2307840/

Big thanks and a hug to Seika for beta reading this!

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><p><strong>Diet<strong>

"Rise and shine, Zev!"

The curtains were yanked open. He groaned and turned to other side, hoping beyond hope that Dio would get the hint and let him sleep for few minutes, or rather hours, more. Alas, it didn't work.

"Come on, lazy bones! Get up, get up!"

He moaned. "You know, if my little friend is supposed to get up ever again, he needs some proper rest. He had a busy night, as you might remember."

"Which is why I let you sleep for almost a full hour longer. So stop whining, and get up."

He sighed, and sat up; it was pointless to prolong it. He grinned as Dio put a tray with breakfast in front of him, and kissed him on his brow. Being pampered wasn't so bad. _Now, if I only managed to convince him to make some real food._ He looked sadly at the fruit salad on the tray. It would be great… with an ice cream, as a desert after a good lunch.

But he knew it was a lost cause. When Dio set a goal, nothing could stop him from reaching it. By any means necessary. And right now, his goal was to prevent Zevran from ageing one more day. It was an arduous task, to find the correct spell, or potion, and then confirm that it would work; the mage warned him that might take at least a decade or two. So until then, they had to take more mundane solutions to keep Zevran beautiful. It would be too late to start with it once he was old, after all.

If it was anyone else, he would just laugh at it, but Dio was more than capable of finding such a solution. He had already learned all of the spells from Flemeth's Grimoire, and had spent long hours studying Avernus' journal. For a mage, the solution for eternal life was surprisingly simple, he once claimed to an astonished Zevran. A mage just had to switch bodies.

"And how are you going to persuade the person to give you their body? Don't you think the Maker would disapprove?" he pointed out, when Dio first told him about his plan, but his lover didn't seem concerned at all.

"Not if it's someone who would die anyway; a criminal waiting for capital punishment, for example."

"But such criminals are not very careful about their bodies, you know. By the time you would get it, it would be probably full of diseases, ugly scars and missing at least two teeth," he insisted.

Dio just waved his hand. "I'll be fine. The bigger problem is that it doesn't work for non-mages. And I'm not willing to let you die."

It was then that Dio came with the idea of 'anti-ageing program'. He thoroughly researched the best processes, discussed it with the most skilled healers in Thedas, all under the pretence of keeping the Grey Wardens fit, and able to defend citizens from the Blight, of course. And this was the result. He sighed dramatically again, but as it didn't draw any sympathy from his determined lover, he gave up and started eating. Or finished eating; it was over before it started properly.

oOo

_The problem, is that there simply aren't enough darkspawn left any more_, he mused gloomily as he dragged back to their room that evening. If Dio had to deal with a crazy Architect or two, he wouldn't have time to worry about his diet, yes? But these days, Dio was busy only with paperwork, or working in his laboratory, while _he_ was training the new wannabe Wardens. He was becoming infamous among them, for his strictness and bad mood. And it was all fault of the horrid things he had to eat._ I should have stopped this nonsense long ago. Remind me why I put up with it?_

Not that he was starving; he couldn't complain about the quantity, but… Alistair's lamb stew tasted better than that stuff. It might have been good for his body, but Maker's balls, how he'd love to have a nice bowl of real Antivan fish chowder! And fishes are supposed to be healthy... he stopped, pondering about it. _It's worth a try,_ he decided at last. With a bit of persuasion, his lover might approve it as a part of the diet. With that encouraging thought, he opened the door to their rooms.

Dio was already there, already in his bathrobe and beaming like a little sun. "Zevran! Difficult day, wasn't it? Here, let me take care of you."

He let Dio undress him and take him to the hot bath. _I guess this is why I put up with it_, he thought as his lover washed him, gently massaging tense knots in his shoulders. His Warden might have silly ideas, sometimes, but he was _his_ Warden, the man he loved, who loved him back. He loved Zevran enough to save him from Crows. Enough to try and do the impossible: to discover the way to stay young forever. _And I whine because the food is not exactly to my liking. Pathetic._

"Zevran? You didn't hear one word of what I said, did you? Poor thing, you must be really exhausted. Come now, we still have to apply the facial mask –"

Now, that got his full attention. "What?"

"– and then you can have some proper rest," Dio continued, oblivious to his dissent, pulling him out of the tub and wrapping him in the bathrobe.

"But, _tesoro mio_…" he tried, exasperated. It was no use. Dio went to the table and picked up a bowl, beaming at him.

"This will make your skin smooth and soft and moisturized –"

He hated that word. It always made him feel like an overgrown plant. He took the bowl, ready to toss it through the window, when he caught the sweet aroma of peaches, and whipped cream. Ignoring Dio's protests, he slipped his finger into the mass, and tasted it. Hmmmm.

"You say this is good for skin?"

"Yes. You just have to apply it on your face, lie still for fifteen minutes, and then rinse it with warm water," explained Dio, pleased by his sudden willingness to cooperate.

He chuckled. "Oh, I don't know about lying still…but I can promise we won't need any warm water."

"What do you – oh."

His Warden was really adorable when he was blushing. With his red hair, he looked as if his whole head was on fire.

"But Zevran. This is necessary, your face –"

"Only face?" he interrupted in high voice, batting his eyelashes. "So the rest of my body can be all dried up and wrinkled? Tsk, tsk. Such neglect. My body needs some care as well, no?"

Dio chuckled, taking the bowl away from him and pushing him on the bed. "You are right, of course. I do apologize, my sweet princess peach."

Now this, Zevran thought, as Dio joined him on the bed, pulling off the bath robe, _this_ was going to be a properly nourishing meal.


	3. Fresh

A little Christmas present for **Enaid Aderyn**, with her Warden Sabhya Amell from Mabari and Magus. If you want to read _real_ stories about Sabhya, go here: http:/ www. fanfiction. net/ s/6675511/1/ Mabari_Magus.

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><p><strong>Fresh<strong>

Zevran slipped out of the bed, quickly grabbed the clothes scattered around the floor, and with a last glance to ensure that his Warden was still sleeping, left the room. He had to hurry. There wasn't much time before he woke up.

The streets were still a terrible mess. The sweepers had just started cleaning the broken bottles, torn decorations, masks, bits of food and all the other litter left there after the lively celebration of Satinalia. Half of the benches were occupied by drunken couples in different state of nakedness. Not so long ago, he would probably be one of them.

The bell at the door jingled,and the baker turned. "Good morning, signor Arainai!"

"Good mornin. Is everything ready?"

"Of course," the man beamed, and showed him the basket. "All is here, just as you wished. Still warm."

He had to force himself to resist the temptation to eat the rolls right then and there, he murmured his thanks and hurried back. When the door closed behind him, he sighed with relief. The sober look at his past was never very pleasant. But it was the past. Today belonged to the man who changed it all. He quickly put water on the stove, and started to grind coffee beans. Soon the air was full of pleasant aroma of fresh coffee. Arranging everything on the tray, he returned to the bedroom.

Sabhya was already sitting in the bed, yawning. "Mmmm… coffee… You always have the best ideas, _querido_."

"I'm glad you think that. I have a lot more ideas for today." He climbed back on the bed with the tray. Sabhya snuggled as close to him as possible.

"Happy Satinalia, _amore_."


	4. Duel

This story was my Christmas present for Shakespira, with he Warden Joss Amell. Go here to read amazing and hilarious stories about Joss: http: / www. fanfiction. net/s/6705606/1/ With_Noble_Intent

Thanks to **Seika** for beta reading this

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><p><strong>Duel<strong>

"Ribbit!"

"This better be a joke, Joss."

"Not at all."

Morrigan looked at the big toad with two black braids and shivered with disgust.

"Ribbit!" cursed the toad angrily.

Morrigan sighed. "All right, but you owe me."

_Poof_!

"Ribbit? Ribbit! _Ribbit_!"

The toad desperately tried to escape, but it never had a chance. She made two steps on those long, slim legs, craned her long neck –

_Clap_!

_Gulp_.

The nobles gasped.

Joss smiled. "Do you know _now_ what colour my hair is?"

The nobles silently looked at the stark.

"_Joss_!"

"Ah, sorry. I meant: Any other objections against Alistair becoming a king?"

The nobles silently looked at the stark.

"Thought so."


	5. Eyes of Love

Ehm. This story was written for Halloween, inspired by Reyavie's comment that Leliana is creepy. I completely forgot it after that, until a discussion at BSN reminded me of it. :)

It's 3:24 a.m. here and I'm publishing this on a crazy impulse, so it's not checked for grammar. But if I don't post it now, I will change my mind and won't post it at all. So here it is.

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><p><strong>Eyes of Love<strong>

The moment Leliana saw Daylen Amell, one of the two surviving Grey Wardens in Ferelden, she knew she found the love of her life. He was surprisingly well built for a mage, and his chest hair was definitely loveliest one in this part of Thedas. And his eyes! Ooooh, they were so pretty! Most of other Fereldans had eyes of ugly brown-green colour that looked like rotten grass, eew. Daylen's eyes were grey-blue, like a stormy sea dividing her from her beloved Orlais. When he looked at her from under that thick veil of long, black eyelashes, she got dizzy and weak in her knees.

Ah, those eyes were haunting her in her dreams.

Of course, the witch also tried to win him, but it wasn't real problem. Pfffft. So funny. Who would choose a hag with split hair ends and no sense for fashion, when they could have a real Orleasian beauty? The assassin was even more pathetic, boasting about his ex lovers and flirting with everyone. She, on the other hand, offered real love, passion that would last whole life and beyond.

Daylen was a bit oblivious, but in the end, she got him. Now those lovely eyes saw only her and nobody else.

She smiled pleasantly and kissed the jar, then placed him carefully on the shelf, between cute ears of _comte_ Desmairas and delicate fingers of Meister Franck, the artist from Anderfels. She noticed, with a pang of guilt, that her other darlings were getting too dusty, the labels on them could be hardly read. She will have to make some time to clean her collection.

Unfortunately, it had to wait. The Divine was sending her to Kirkwall. And she heard many interesting things about the Champion and his awesome beard…


	6. Conscripted

I wrote this little nonsense some time ago for two challenges at CMDA: Unlikely Warden and 100 words. :D

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><p><strong>Conscripted<strong>

Hic! Ouch. What's that? Aha, lamppost. To punch - hic! - his nose like that!  
>"Do that again and I'll conscript you."<br>The lamppost cowardly staggers back. There! Hic! He showed it. The way is free. Hic! What's that? That sounds like a bucket of toads.  
>"The Veal holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her bacon and her -"<br>He stares at the sister and points shaky finger at her. "Bacon, ha! You I – hic! – like. Alis-hic! will like you too. You're conscripted. Welcome to Grey Wardens."


	7. Silence

**Silence**

It is inevitable. From the moment _he_ left.

Every evening he falls asleep, surprised but grateful that it didn't happen. Every morning, he wakes up with nervous expectation and a timid hope that _maybe_, maybe it will not happen yet, maybe it will be postponed for one more day, maybe one more week… Sometimes he hates himself for that hope, for that weakness that stops him in front of her door every time he decides that he _must know_, must hear it.

Instead he lets the silence grow, and slowly rise around them–like water in a trap room without an exit; it has already reached their chests, their hearts, and still, it continues to rise…

How much longer can they stand it, before they start to scream in madness? Coward that he is he prefers to stay trapped with her, than forced to an existence without her.

But _she_ never was a person who would give up her life without fight. If there isn't an exit, she will make one.

Any day now. It is inevitable. But what then, what then?

oOo

"We need to talk."

Nothing he can say is going to change her mind, he knows that. But he has to try. To say it, at least.

"You are going after him." It's not a question; it's a statement of a fact, cold and bitter.

"I have to. I should have never let him leave without–"

"He left you. He didn't care enough to stay with you; he _betrayed_ you. And you are still going after him!"

"Don't. You know that's not true. It was me who betrayed him. I was so blind. I thought… I should've realised this will not work."

Every word she says is like a stab with a dagger, coated in a poison that will continue its painful work for the rest of his life.

"I tried so hard to show him that his opinions matter. That it is all right to say what he really thinks, what he really wants. That he can make his own decisions; that it is not necessary for him to hide in the shadows any more. And then I betrayed him. It is my fault he left. I didn't give him any other chance."

"If he really loved you, he wouldn't –"

"It's _because_ he loved me, don't you see? He was just being honest. With himself, and with me."

"He ran away in the middle of night, like a coward! You call that honesty?" Her argument is true, as usual; his bitter accusations are unfair, he knows that. But he can't help it. That she was leaving him now was also not fair. Love is not fair. _Especially one-sided love_, he thinks bitterly.

"Stop. Don't… You are only hurting yourself more."

"And you care?"

"I do. Even if you don't believe it."

"But you don't love me."

"You know that. You always knew. I never lied about that."

_But I hoped I could change that. _He swallows the words. There is no point saying them. "You can't just leave. You have a duty –"

"I know. I thought it would be enough to keep me here. But it hurts too much."

"What about the wedding?"

"It shouldn't be such a problem to cancel one wedding."

"No? We are not talking about a common wedding here, you know."

"Would you prefer I stay for the charade, and then leave once we're married?"

He stares at her face, calm and determined, her stance defensive. He's lost her. No; that's not right. He never had her. It was all an illusion, the naïve dream of a boy who loved for the first time. Now the dream is shattered; that's all.

The splinters are still sharp, and covered in blood. But it's time to let it go.

"I will say you left for a very important Warden business… possible threat…"

"And I will fall. I see. As you wish."

"You won't be able to come back. Ever. You realise that?"

"I do."

"When are you leaving?"

"In two days."

He realises that until this moment he still had a tiniest hope, unrealistic and stupid, but still there, that she would change her mind. Now it's final. She is leaving. In two days. She's probably packed already.

It's really over.

oOo

There are so many things he would like to tell her. But he can't. He can't.

She kisses him on his lips. "You are a good man. And a good king. Don't waste your life because of me."

_Don't go_, he wants to scream, but the words won't pass his lips.

"When the time comes, I'll be waiting for you in Orzammar."

oOo

There are rumours, of course. It is inevitable. She is too famous, people recognize her. Some say she was responsible for the unrest in Antiva. It seems she travels a lot; she's seen in Rivain, the Anderfels, the Free Marches. And there is always a blonde elf with her.

But being a king has its advantages. Nobody dares to speak about it in front of him.

And he silently counts down the years.


	8. Anniversary

I promised I'll make it up to Alistair for the last story, so here it is. This was also already published at CMDA but here it is all new and shiny thanks to my great beta **Seika**. :)

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><p><strong>Anniversary<strong>

Alistair rolled out of the bed, yawning. Why did the Maker have to create such noisy birds? He stretched, enjoying the warm breeze on his sleepy face. Wait. Breeze?

He turned to the window, and almost jumped in surprise, quickly looking around for his sword. There was someone sitting on the windowsill–someone who was now laughing heartily at him.

"I wondered when you'd notice me. Relax my friend. It is only me."

"Yes, because knowing you were in my room watching me sleeping is so relaxing," he snarled at the damned elf, but that only made him look smugger. He walked to the window and looked down.

"Right. You didn't really crawl up here through the window, did you?"

"Ah, I'm truly flattered that you esteem my skills so much, but alas, I still cannot turn into a spider. No, it was your lovely wife who let me in, through the doors, actually. I only opened the window to–"

_Bang!_ Said door almost fell off the hinges, as two small identical figures, still in their night robes, rushed in and threw themselves on his visitor.

"Uncle Zevran!"

"Were you in Antiva? What did you bring me?"

"You will teach me fight with daggers?"

"Duncan! Wynne! Get off your uncle, now." He tried his best to sound strict and bit angry, but he knew he was failing miserably. "What is this behaviour? Is this the way to greet your uncle? What are you, a pair of wild mabari puppies? "

"No, Dad."

A perfect picture of repentance, doubled. But he knew all their tricks by now, and was determined not submit to their cuteness. Maybe he would even succeed, for once, but then Zevran destroyed it all, completely ignoring his effort to act as a _parent_ here.

"You were good while I was away, yes?"

"Yes, uncle Zevran," they chided in unison, wild mabari puppies turned into the cutest of kittens by the implications of that question.

"That's not very helpful, Zevran. Stop spoiling them," he grunted.

Zevran just waved his hand and looked at him. For a moment his eyes seemed almost sad, before he laughed again. "Fathers are meant to educate. And uncles are meant to spoil, yes? So let me do my part."

"All right, but there will be no presents until you're washed, dressed properly and after breakfast!"

"Yes, Daddy!"

_Bang!_

"Perhaps I should remove the door and put just some curtain there," he complained. Zevran laughed softly.

"You're a lucky man, Alistair."

"I am," he said, proudly. "Now come, let's go to have some breakfast too, before we get all sentimental."

"Ah, I'm afraid I can't let you go yet."

He looked at Zevran, surprised. What was he up to now? "Why?"

"Because you're still in your night robes, my friend. And rather… unsexy ones, if I may point out. How am I supposed to get more cute nieces and nephews if you sleep in _that_?"

Groaning, he pushed laughing Zevran out of the door, but a moment later the elf peeked in again.

"Are you sure you don't want a helping hand?"

The slipper landed few centimetres from the place where the elf's head was just a second ago. He should put locks on that door… Hopefully Zevran hadn't learnt to pick them yet.

oOo

"Uncle Zev, do you know it's Mum and Dad's adversary next week?"

They burst out laughing and the little girl blushed a bit, embarrassed. Just like him. "That's _anniversary_, Wynne," he corrected her.

"But she wasn't that far from truth, no? At least in the beginning."

"Don't listen to that. Uncle Zev is bit confused," Alistair glared at the damned elf, who raised his eyebrows at him.

Neria laughed at them. "Uncle Zev doesn't know how it really was. Why don't you tell him?"

Their eyes lit up at that. The story of how he and Neria fell in love was their favourite; they would listened to it any time they could.

"You and Mum met at Ostagar! That's where the big battle was, you know, Uncle Zev, and all the good Grey Wardens died, even Duncan," said Wynne, throwing teasing glance at her brother.

"But he killed hundreds and hundreds of darkspawn first!" he specified.

"Yes, but not as much as Wynne," said the little girl haughtily. "_She_ survived," she explained to a very amused Zevran.

"But Mum and dad met before the battle, and it was love at first sight!" the boy proceeded to the less embarrassing topic.

Zevran laughed. "If you say so."

He grinned. Of course it was. Well, maybe not from the _very_ first-

"_So you're another mage?"_

"_Would that make your day worse, ser Templar?"_

"_No, of course not and I'm not–" _

"_Ah. Pity. I hoped it would."_

-but definitely from the second. Well, at least from his side. He knew he was in love halfway through the Korcari Wilds; the night before her Joining he couldn't sleep, for fear she would not survive.

"… and Mum really liked him because he was witty and funny," he heard Wynne continue in the story. Oh Maker. He didn't dare to look at Zevran's face now.

"Ah, that is true, _principessa_. Even Leliana, the bard, frequently went to consult lyrics for her ballads with him."

He groaned inwardly. Oh no. Leliana told him. She promised she wouldn't tell anyone. Who knows how long Zevran knew? Besides, it was not frequently, only once. When it was most important not to blunder.

"_Just tell her what you feel."_

"_Right. I… what I feel… I feel dizzy. And hot. And terribly nervous. And I'm sweating."_

"_That's… no. Think about it. Why did you pick the rose?"_

"_Because it was beautiful."_

"_See, we're getting somewhere. It was beautiful like her, right? What else is so important about that rose? Think!"_

Maker, that was real torture. It took them almost an hour to come up with a few lines that were, according to Leliana, fit to tell the lady. It took him another two hours to memorise them. And even, so he was still stuttering when he gave her the rose. But it was worth it.

"And they never argued; never, they were always nice to each other, because it's rude to argue, you know," added Duncan enthusiastically.

Zevran snickered. "Yes… that's very rude," he said pointedly. "And those who are rude to a lady deserve nothing less than a good punch in the nose. Always remember that, my lad."

Ah. _That punch_. It hurt his pride more than his nose, but it was necessary, he had to admit that.

"_What are you doing, assassin? You almost broke my nose!"_

"_What are _you_ doing, you idiota? You made her cry!"_

"_She let that maleficar kill Isolde!"_

"_She did the only thing she could to save the boy! And you're going to apologise to her, or I'll really break it!"_

Duncan nodded in agreement. "Yes, Daddy says that too."

"Good to know," Zevran snickered again and raised his eyebrows at Alistair. "But please, go on. This is very… ah… enlightening."

Neria laughed. "See how much you didn't know about us? Tsk, tsk. Go on, darlings, tell him everything."

Alistair listened to his children – _his children_! He was still sometimes surprised by that – how they told to Zevran in great detail how he and Neria fought together, all of their enemies throwing away their weapons at the mere sight of them, and he couldn't stop grinning. Zevran was a great audience, laughing and gasping in awe always at the correct places, only occasionally throwing sideways glances at him.

"And then they marched to the Landsmeet together and then Daddy said, 'I'm not going to be a king!' "

"Yeah! Because he wanted to stay with Mum, you know. And the nobles didn't like it, they were very angry."

"They wanted him to marry an old lady! Who wasn't Mum!"

Zevran was laughing so hard he was crying now. "Yes, I believe I remember that old lady. And what happened at the Landsmeet. And before."

Of course he would remember. He spent the whole night before the Landsmeet trying to talk some sense to him and Neria. Under Eamon's pressure, they both already resigned to the fact that Alistair will be the king.

"_Do you really mean to give up what you have? Just because some old fart wants it?"_

"_You don't understand. It's not so simple."_

"_It is very simple. You go there and say 'no thanks'."_

"_But it is our duty –"_

"_Duty! Duty is not always the most important thing. I gave up the woman I loved, because I believed it was my duty. To be loyal to the Crows. Believe me. If you do this… you won't be able to forgive yourselves."_

It was the only time Zevran had talked openly about Rinna, the only time he had really bared his soul to them. It had had quite a sobering effect, on both of them. Oh, poor Anora! She was so sure she was going to be the Queen. Instead, Neria cheerfully informed the nobles that Alistair was going to be a Grey Warden… and named Fergus Cousland the king. Anora was a child of a traitor, and thus unfit to be a queen, she explained when Anora threw a tantrum.

"And then they came here and daddy defeated the darkspawn here, because there were lots of them!"

"Yes and Mum couldn't fight because her belly was this big!" Duncan stretched his hands in front of him as far as he could reach.

"Because we were inside, you know," explained Wynne wisely. "But if daddy married the old lady, then we wouldn't be there and we wouldn't be born. I wouldn't miss Duncan but I would miss me."

"Hey!"

Alistair sighed. "Apologise to your brother, Wynne."

"… Sorry."

"That was an amazing story, my dear. You are great storytellers… just like your daddy," Zevran chuckled. "Now, there is something waiting for you in the yard, but don't run, and be careful not to scare–who am I talking to, anyway?"

Both twins bolted out of the room the moment he said 'yard'.

oOo

Leliana came that evening, Sten two nights after that. Wynne and Shale were last to come, on the evening of the celebration. If only Morrigan had appeared. He would have loved to see his daughter. That was all he knew about the child–that it was a girl. Urthemiel.

But there was nothing he could do, except wait. Perhaps one day even that dream would come true. All of the other dreams had, as unbelievable as it sounded.

The Grey Wardens were restored.

He had the best friends a man could want. Friends that were always ready to stand up for him and to cover his back.

He had the two cutest children in the whole of Thedas… even though they were sometimes drove him crazy.

And he had _her_.

Neria turned to him, eyes full of laugher and love.

Yes, Zevran was right. He _was_ a lucky man.


	9. We Should Thank Elissa

For the kmeme prompt _Indecisive Warden is infatuated with two LIs (canon or not) and can't decide which one they like better. Both of them tire of being strung along and hook up... with each other_. I decided for a het female Warden... and canon LIs. ;o)

Big thanks to Seika for her help. :)

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><p><strong>We Should Thank Elissa<strong>

Elissa talked and talked and talked. Her words flew into his head through his left ear and immediately flew out through the right one, leaving no trace they were ever there. Always the same thing. Either about how she loved him, how lucky she was to have met him-or about Zevran, how he was not what she expected and how she didn't want to break his heart. How they were _both_ equally dear to her and she hated to be pushed to choose only one.

It didn't help that Zevran was usually two steps away.

Like now. Of course he pretended to be preoccupied with treating his leather boots; but when Alistair glanced his way, their eyes met. It always sent shivers down Alistair's spine–how much devotion, wistfulness and desire was in those eyes!

Elissa was right, the Crow was not at all what Alistair expected from an assassin. Since he had joined them, he had been nothing but loyal. He never protested or whined like everyone else (including himself, Alistair had to admit with a pang of embarrassment), and risked his life for them without hesitation.

And he was funny... when you got used to it.

And sexy. Or so the ladies said. Well, Alistair supposed that Zevran didn't look bad, and his exotic accent apparently worked on ladies too.

But the most important thing was that, as it seemed, he loved Elissa much more than Alistair, if he was still willing and able to hang on to every word from her lips like this.

oOo

"Zevran, may a have a word with you?" Alistair gulped nervously. Originally he had chosen the lake and bath time because he didn't want to talk about it in front of Elissa, buuuut... perhaps it wasn't such a great idea.

"Oh? This should be good. Go ahead."

Zevran turned to him with a lecherous smile, his naked, wet torso glittering in the moonlight–Alistair felt his face burning, and Zevran chuckled.

"About Elissa," he said firmly. That got Zevran's full attention at last.

"Alistair, I-"

"No, please, let me finish. It is about time to end this farce. I wanted to say... that I will stand down. I like Elissa and she'll be always my first love, but... I don't think I love her enough. She deserves more than I can give her, and I'm sure you'll make her happy."

Zevran chuckled again. "Does that mean you don't think I'm a disgusting killer and a sleazeball any more?"

"No," he said. "I have to admit, you're a good man."

"Only good?" Zevran asked, taking a step closer to him. "Ah, you wound me. I'm a marvel, no?"

Alistair smirked. "If you have to ask that..."

"You do not think I'm awesome? And seductive?" Zevran batted his eyelashes and Alistair laughed out loud.

"Ridiculously so." His voice sounded funny and he had weird feeling in his... well, you know. _There_. "R-right, so, that's all. I better go and-"

"Wait," Zevran called, and closed the distance between them. Alistair want to step back, but Zevran grabbed his arms. "Alistair. I appreciate what you wanted to do, but I... I am not interested in Elissa."

Alistair was sure he didn't hear right. That was simply impossible.

"There is someone else in my life," Zevran continued. "And I must thank Elissa for it. I would have never realized what a great person–_and_ how sexy he is, if she haven't been pointing it out to me, repeatedly, for months."

"H-he?" It was a useless question-except the two of them there was only Sten,and Elissa didn't love _Sten_–but his brain refused to accept it.

"So adorable," Zevran purred, and kissed him on the lips. He gasped and the bastard used it to push his tongue inside. Alistair wanted to push him away, but his arms disagreed and pressed that beautiful body against his chest.

Zevran chuckled and then his lips and hands were everywhere and every time Alistair wanted to tell him to stop, he only managed a pitiful needy moan.

"B-but–Elissa–we must-" he managed to mumble.

"Hmmm?" Zevran stopped and looked at him. "You wish to invite her to join? Perhaps some other time, yes? Tonight I want you just for myself."

"M-maker, no! But–ahhhh, Zevrrrran..." The bastard decided to continue–on his knees in front of Alistair.

"Mmmmm, I like how you said my name now. Say it again."

Ah–_Maker!_–Elissa would never forgive them... He would worry about that tomorrow, he decided in his last coherent thought.

"Zevrrrran..."


	10. In War, Victory

This was my present for my friend Eva Galana in the Secret Santa fiction exchange at CMDA. :)

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><p><strong>In War, Victory<strong>

Thomas yanked out the sword from the chest of a Hurlock and almost in the same movement, swung it to the right, cutting off the sword arm or another one. Ignoring the shrieks of the creature, he spun on his heels just in time to pierce the Genlock that tried to attack him from behind. Through the thick smoke, he felt that something vicious and violent was coming from the left–and from behind, too–damned these disgusting things! There were too many!

An arrow flew over his left shoulder; a pained shriek told him it hit its target. Then another one, and another one.

_Zevran?_

He turned in the direction from which the arrows were flying. At first he saw no one; then Leliana came running. Ah. Of course it wasn't Zevran.

"Thomas, are you all right?"

He blinked and forced himself to smile. "Fine. Let's go."

_I forbade him to come with me_, he reminded himself as he ran over the dead creatures. Zevran wanted to come. He told him to stay at the gates with Alistair.

Still…

A roaring Genlock ran his way, brandishing its sword above its head. Pathetic. He mechanically ran his sword through it, and looked around. How many more were there? And where _were _all the soldiers, damn it? He stiffened as he heard footsteps from the alley to the right.

"Warden Commander!"

Ah, they there were. Two mages, three Dalish and a dozen or so Kardol's legionaries. No commander; it seemed they just randomly regrouped, after their platoons were destroyed. But now was no time to worry about that. Unless he found and killed the Archdemon real fast, they'd be all dead before the nightfall.

"I must get to the Fort Drakon. Make me a path!"

Relieved to have a goal again, their faces lit with determination. One of the mages cast a rejuvenation spell on him and Leliana. Good. That's two potions saved.

"They're coming!" one of the Dalish warned. "Go, Commander! Leave them to us!"

And so he pressed forward, Leliana two steps behind him. He could see the Fort already. One place he never wanted to see again. One place he desperately needed to reach. And it was proving much more difficult than he expected. But, it seemed the Archdemon wasn't there yet, either.

What if Riordan fails?

No point in worrying about it now. He had to trust the old guy knew what he was doing. And he couldn't be far away–Thomas could vaguely feel the presence of the third Warden. It would work. It had to.

_If only Zev was here._

_I told him not to come._

_I still expected he would. Like back then._

With an angry cry he sprinted towards the Tower, unsure if he was disappointed in Zevran or himself.

oOo

_Back then._

_Ah, the surprise in the Warden's face when he saw Zevran, still with a bow in his hands. He obviously didn't expect the man who failed to assassinate him just a few hours ago to save him._

_"Why did you do it?" the Warden asked._

_"And why not? You saved my life, too, no?" Zevran replied with a shrug._

_That morning, he tried to lure the Wardens and their companions into a trap and assassinate them. It seemed easy enough task. Two Warden rookies, a pretty Chantry Sister, a young witch, a Qunari and a dog, all completely different and constantly quarrelling over every tiny detail – not a threat at all. What chance could this band of misfits have against a cell of Crows, disciplined and precise, for who assassinating fools was the sole purpose of existence? Or so he thought. He lost; all his men lay slain, and he himself was badly wounded._

_Zevran expected the Warden–the one in command, not the babbling fool–would kill him. That was what he would do, without hesitation. But the Warden didn't kill him. Everyone except the pretty Sister told him he was a fool and naive and that it was wrong, but he didn't listen. He might be a Warden now, but he would not dishonor the name Cousland by such a cowardly act. That was what he said. And he went even further: he gave Zevran two healing potions and bandages. Because, he reasoned, leaving him there injured would be a cruelty, not mercy. Then he ordered Zevran to never show his face before the Wardens again. They would not be merciful again, he warned._

_And yet, here he was. At first he was telling himself he wasn't really following the Wardens; he decided to go to Denerim and they were headed in the same direction. And if he would get a second chance to fulfill his mission, even better. No?_

_The darkspawn attack was a perfect opportunity. He could have picked them one by one. Starting with the noble brat. All he had to do was to aim a little more to the left... Instead, he shot the darkspawn. Intentionally, he might add, despite the spite the other Warden, was spouting._

_"Besides, it seemed you needed a hand. And I am amazing in giving a hand. To you, I could give a hand day and night, if you would let me," he said with a sly grin. "I'm sure serving you would be much more pleasant than serving the Crows."_

_In truth, Zevran didn't expect the Warden to accept it, but accept it he did. He became one of the Blight Companions, as they became known across Ferelden. (Or the Blighted Companion, as the babbling fool called him.) Since that day, he always followed his Warden, wherever he went and fought at his side whatever he faced._

oOo

He stayed behind only to pick up few arrows; then he covered himself in shadow and ran after his Warden as fast as he could. He was never more grateful for his ability to move unseen – it saved much time, not having to fight every one of these blasted creatures. He would catch up with Thomas in no time.

If that foolish noble thought he could get rid of Zevran that easily, then he didn't know Zevran as well as he should. Thomas made him promise he would stay defend gates with Alistair, yes. But he never specified how long he would do it, no? So technically he wasn't breaking it. Even if he did, it didn't matter, not this time. The only thing that mattered now was to keep Thomas alive.

What in the Void was Thomas thinking, going off to fight the Archdemon and taking only Leliana, Sten, and Demon with him? The mabari was a great, brave warrior, and did all she could to protect her master; but she was still just a dog. She didn't survive the first hour. Sten was badly injured and had to stay behind. And from what Zevran saw now, Thomas and Leliana were also exhausted. What if he wasn't helping, from the shadows? What if the soldiers didn't arrive at that moment?

What if Thomas died–

With a curse, Zevran started to run faster.

oOo

A deafening roar from above made almost all soldiers stop, paralyzed with fear. Thomas looked up. There it was. The huge shape of the Archdemon, black against the bright red sky, was gliding–no– falling?! It was! It was falling! Right to the top of the tower of the Fort Drakon, just like Riordan said! It meant the plan worked! It meant they still had a chance!

Feeling guilty he ever doubted the older Warden, Thomas sprinted toward the Fort. Time to kill the big boss.

_To die._

Leliana was shouting something, but he couldn't hear. He turned to where she was pointing. All hairs on his body stood up and for whole terrible second, he couldn't remember how to move.  
>The horde.<p>

Running this way.

_What–the Song_. They were responding to the Archdemon's Song. It might have been injured and forced to land on the tower, but it was far from helpless. It was calling them, singing to them, and they were coming. In a few moments, the Tower would be full of darkspawn. Getting to the Archdemon would be almost impossible. If he wanted to kill the Archdemon, he had to do it now.

"For the glory of the Maker!" shouted Leliana. Was that supposed to encourage him? It didn't. He stopped caring about the Maker's glory at the night of his conscription. The only person that could give him courage wasn't there.

He raised his sword. "For Zevran!"

He half expected that she'd laugh at him, but she didn't. They ran into the Fort, trying to win the impossible race. At least Riordan was up there already.

_Goodbye, Zev._

_And don't blame yourself, you fool._

oOo

_"It wasn't your fault."_

_From anyone else it would be a cliché. But Thomas Cousland was battling the same demons. He knew what it felt like, to let those you love be killed. To turn and leave, while they bleed to death. To have their ghosts follow you at every step, whispering bitter accusations._

_After they returned from Orzammar with the last alliance formed, Thomas decided it was time to deal with Fereldan nobles. Despite Alistair's repeated suggestions, he was refusing to visit the Arl Eamon till that point. He wanted to have his own army first, independent on any Fereldan noble, so that nobody, not even Alistair's so-called uncle could manipulate him._

_But when they arrived to Redcliffe, they found it under an attack of demons, Arl Eamon half dead, and his only son possessed. They defeated the demons, but there was no way to save the child. Thomas killed him. The Arlessa cursed him and almost scratched his eyes out, but Zevran thought she was lucky. Maybe one day, she would be able to understand, too._

_Alistair blamed Thomas, of course. If only they came earlier, none of that would have happened!_

_It was only for the sake of his friendship with Alistair that Thomas agreed with the impossible mission to find the sacred ashes of Andraste._

_Would he agree if he knew about the Gauntlet and its Guardian?_

_Zevran doubted it._

_"Do you regret what happened?" the Guardian asked. He might have as well asked if they regretted carving their hearts out._

_And then ghosts of their pasts. One for each, spouting few enigmatic words of wisdom and leaving a cold ache in the left._

_They did not talk about it until they were back in the Redcliffe. While everyone rejoiced the miraculous healing of the Arl, Thomas retreated to his room. Zevran followed, uninvited, but not rejected either. He couldn't remember how they started to talk about it. They bared their souls to each other, all the pain and misery that was fermenting in the darkness and silence._

_The night was almost over when they finished, the pale moon and stars barely visible any more, and both of them felt vulnerable and cold._

_Thomas touched him first, moving his hand up Zevran's arm, in slow motion, and Zevran felt how life and warmth return to his body. He realized he never needed anything as much as he needed this, and he saw the same need in Thomas's eyes. It was gentle and slow, and far surpassed any previous experience._

_It wasn't just sex. It was love-making._

_Neither of them was ready to admit it yet._

oOo

The Fort was eerily quiet. Outside, the horde clashed with the army, but from this side of the thick oak door, it sounded like a little more than a brawl. If not for corpses littering the floor and the stench of darkspawn blood so thick the air was almost unbreathable, he would think he entered a chantry, by mistake.

He hoped the soldiers would be able to keep the horde from the Fort. If not... Well, he would worry about that when it happened. Now he had to find the Archdemon and Riordan and help the old guy kill it before Thomas could stop them. Morrigan said Thomas wouldn't die, but Zevran wasn't sure if he believed her; he wouldn't risk it.

Soon, he was able to get ahead of Thomas and Leliana. He wouldn't be able help them here, not without being noticed. And he didn't want Thomas to notice him just yet.

The rooftop was much more crowded than he expected. He thought there would be the Archdemon, fighting with Riordan, and perhaps a few Fort guards. But there had to be few dozens of darkspawn and soldiers; it was impossible to say if the old guy was there as well.

Brasca! This wasn't good at all. The Archdemon had its winged torn, the pieces of the membrane flapping like rags in the wind as it moved; but it seemed that other than that, it wasn't much injured. The few mages did what they could to slow it down while the warriors and archers put down the darkspawn, but they wouldn't last long.

Still covered in shadows, Zevran ran to the ugly beast. Without Riordan, he'd have to do what he knew already. True, Flemeth and Andraste were both smaller, but at least he had some practice. It was easy, yes? Jump on it–climb up the neck–stab it with the poisoned daggers. No matter how big or ugly, even the dragons couldn't survive the Crow Poison injected directly into their brains. Especially as their brains were ridiculously tiny, compared with their bodies.

But it was more difficult than he assumed. This was a limited area, no side alleys, no alternate paths. Sneaking was useless here, unless for covering in fear. That would be quite reasonable, naturally. But he was never known to be reasonable.

"Use the ballista! Aim for legs, cripple it!" a familiar voice shouted the orders. Thomas was here. "Fire! You two, get them some stones. And you over there, cover them!"

Zevran dared a quick glance in the direction where Thomas was quickly regrouping the soldiers. A young god of war, his Warden, he thought proudly. Worth dying forth, yes. He turned his attention back to the beast, raging just few yards away. Now or never. He sprinted to it, and in one jump, got to its back. It didn't even notice him.

"Zevran!"

He heard Thomas's angry shouts, but he didn't listen. He had to focus, keep his balance. It would be a pity if he fell now. Die trampled by a paw. What a bad joke. A few times, the rocks from ballista almost knocked him down. He could hear Thomas's angry shouts _I said legs! Aim to its legs, idiots!_ They sounded much closer. He forced himself to push it out of its mind. Focus. Breathe. Move. Nothing else mattered. Inch by inch, he climbed up the Archdemon's neck. Finally, he was up. He took out the Crow Poison and carefully covered his daggers, one by one. The noise of the battle was distant and vague. Let's hope Morrigan was right, he thought and trusted them in its temples.

The Archdemon roared in pain and lifted to its hinder legs, trying to shake him off. Zevran squeezed his eyes and clung to his daggers. He half hoped the beast would die from the stab itself. Ah, never mind. The poison would start working in a minute. Not even the Archdemon could survive that. Wait. Hold on. Survive. He was always good at that.

The beast started to sway and crashed down. Zevran let go his daggers and jumped off. He grabbed the first sword he saw on the ground and turned back to finish it off. But he was too late.

"Thomas! No!"

Thomas was standing next to the Archdemon's head, with his sword raised. And before Zevran could move, before he could even breathe, he brought it down with all his might.

The sickening sound of crunching bones paralyzed them–darkspawn and humans and all. Then the air trembled and everything exploded in bright light.

oOo

"Are you insane? I would rather face a dozen of Archdemons than do _that_ with Morrigan! Much less painful, if you ask me."

"Then why am I alive?" Thomas insisted. By all accounts he should be dead. He killed the Archemon, so his soul should have been destroyed, obliviated into nonexistence. That was what Riordan explained to them, the night before the battle. The same night, Morrigan came to him, offering a way out. But the price she asked... he couldn't do that. He went to the battle ready to die. Yet here he was, with nothing worse than a broken arm. And Alistair was still denying it.

"How should I know?" Alistair crossed his arms. "Certainly not thanks to me doing anything with Morrigan. That's... ewwww! As in, ewwwww!"

"All right, all right, I get it." Thomas laughed. It was true–he couldn't imagine how would Morrigan convince Alistair to do the Dark Ritual. "Maybe Riordan found some other way," he decided. "We should ask him. Could you call for him?"

"Thomas," Alistair said with a sigh, "I told you already. Riordan is dead. I saw him fell by my own eyes."

"Nonsense. Don't tell me you can't sense it. He's alive, and not far away. In fact, I think he's right behind the door."

Alistair got up from the chair, marched to the door and yanked them open. "See? No Riordan here. It's just–by the Maker! You?"

"Wynne says he's awake," Zevran said in a weak voice.

"He is. But you-"

"I'm healed enough," Zevran said and pushed him aside. "I want to see him."

"That doesn't matter now–I mean it does, but–you're a Warden!"

"That I am," he admitted.

"Alistair. Could you please leave us alone, for a while?" Thomas asked; his voice sounded flat and hollow. Zevran flinched. Alistair glanced at him, then at Zevran, and then left without a word.

There was a moment of awkward, tense silence. Thomas watched Zevran's face–he never saw Zevran this scared and lost.

"So it was you," he said in the end. "You did the Ritual."

Zevran walked over to him. He knelt down and put his head on Thomas chest. "Yes," he said, in that same weak voice. Thomas could feel him trembling. "Even if you never forgive me, I had to do it. I couldn't let you die. Not you."

"Do you know what will happen? About the child?"

"Who can say what will happen? Maybe it will die at birth; maybe it won't live to adulthood; maybe it will be a normal child. No? I am not giving you up for something that might never happen. Do not ask that of me. If you can't forgive me, and wish to break it, I understand. I still prefer you alive and hating me, than dead."

Thomas closed his eyes. He wasn't happy that an Old God would be reborn–as a Morrigan's child, none the less. He was ready to die rather than risk that. But he couldn't blame Zevran.

"You're a fool."

"Yes."

"I love you."

"Yes?"

"Of course I do," Thomas said, a bit disappointed by Zevran's doubt. "Now get up from there and tell me everything. How and when did you become the Warden?"

Zevran didn't get up. "Riordan let me Join–but first, I, I'd like to ask you something, if I may."

"All right, but I get to stare at you luridly while you do so."

They both laughed at that, and it seemed that Zevran relaxed a little bit. He pulled something out from his breast pocket. "I... still have this. You remember it, yes?"

It was the earring–the one that Zevrand offered Thomas as a thank-you for defeating the Crows. Thomas refused it, said he didn't need any reward.

"I–I'd like to give it to you. Please, will you accept it this time? As a–as a token of my affection. To you."

Thomas wanted to pinch himself. This had to be a dream. Or a delayed hallucination caused by the injury. "That sounds almost like a proposal," he said with a smile. If he misunderstood, he could pretend it was a joke.

But Zevran didn't laugh. "Only if you wish so," he whispered.

"Yes," he muttered, his throat suddenly dry. "I wish that. I wish that more than anything."

Zevran put the earring in his ear. His fingers were cold and still trembling. "Now you are mine, yes? So promise me. Promise me you will never again try to die alone, leaving me behind."

"I promise," he said.

Thirty years, eh? -he thought as Zevran kissed him. Not bad. Not bad at all.


End file.
